


Break

by spottswood (canyouseemyspark)



Series: Wuthering Heights Quotes [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Minor Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen - Freeform, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor Viserys Targaryen, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 23:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canyouseemyspark/pseuds/spottswood
Summary: “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”Jon, raised with the Starks after his mother's death, now an adult, can finally begin to build a relationship with his father, Rhaegar. During a summer holiday spent on one of his father's estates, he meets the rest of his family and is left entirely changed.Inspired by The Story of a New Name, the second book of the Neapolitan Novels.





	1. Part I: The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t often write from a male point of view and this is my first time ever writing Jon/Daenerys so I’m a bit of a fish out of water here. Let me know what you think, they’re definitely a pairing I would like to continue exploring.
> 
> I've planned this out to be five parts. I'll make sure to post warnings in the notes if needed.
> 
> This will be the shortest of the five parts.

Summerhall was a sprawling complex made up of at least six different villas, each with views of the Dornish sea. His father’s family owned the land all around it too ( _my family_ , Jon had to get used to thinking of it that way). He had seen it for himself on his morning runs; every morning he would go for a three mile jog, taking a different path each time, and he never saw a single soul. When he first arrived to spend the summer with his father, the driver had taken him through a small town at foothills of the mountains. He could see a handful of shops nestled between small homes, and some colorful fishing boats floating in the sea, but it had been another half hour drive before they reached the gates of Summerhall.

It was shocking to see firsthand just how wealthy his father was. The Starks were too, not to this extent, but Uncle Ned had always tried to teach them about personal responsibility. When he and Robb turned 18, they were both cut off; while their education was paid for, each of them had had to get jobs to pay their rent and buy groceries. When he graduated, Jon knew that there was a bank account with his name on, loaded with an enormous sum, but the money seemed somehow abstract, not something he thought about or felt he should be using yet.

The Targaryens certainly didn’t have the same philosophy.

Jon liked the isolation. He had gotten used to it growing up in the North where it was so sparsely populated and he had long ago learned how to keep his own company. His father seemed to be the same. They had fallen into a comfortable routine - they ate breakfast together in the morning, Jon went for his run while his father worked from his office; around two, they would cook lunch together and eat it outside, where they would watch the sea; sometimes in the evenings they would go swimming together, or sit together and read, though Rhaegar preferred sometimes to play his harp.

It was a relief to Jon how quickly things between them had normalized.

It wasn’t as though his father was entirely absent when he was growing up. Jon remembered him being there at every important stage in his life, from big things like graduations to the smaller things, like moving into his first apartment. It was just that there was a barrier there, an invisible door which seemed to close anytime they came close to developing a true relationship. His uncles wouldn’t allow it and now that he was older, Jon could guess that his father’s wife wouldn’t it. For years, his father wasn’t really his father, at least not on paper; Jon was a Stark, his Uncle Ned was his legal guardian and his home was Winterfell. It’s because Rhaegar had already been married when he met Jon’s mother, with two children not much older than Jon himself. _If your mother had lived, he would have married her_ , Uncle Benjen had told him once. The Targaryens could do that, after all, married more than one woman. But his mother hadn’t lived, and Jon hadn’t grown up a Targaryen.

“We can make up for lost time,” his father told him, that first night when he arrived in Summerhall.

And they were, truly. His half-siblings were staying in Summerhall too but on the other side of the compound. It was by design, so Jon and Rhaegar could have the space to get to know each other, and so Rhaenys and Aegon could have their own space, to adjust to the idea of having a little brother who would play an active role in their lives, beyond a handful of half-forgotten childhood interactions.

They had planned the night before to meet on the beach, but as Jon walked towards the water, he saw only Rhaenys. She was stretched out on her back on a beach towel wearing a gold bathing suit, resting on her elbows and staring into the water. She turned to smile at him when she heard him coming, but her sunglasses were so dark Jon couldn’t see her eyes.

“It’s so warm today,” She said.

And it was, hotter than it had been all summer long. Jon had been looking forward to going for a swim all day.

He unfurled his towel, and lay down beside her.

“It is. Have you been out here for long?”

Rhaenys shook her head, “No, I can hardly stand it. I only just got here.”

It had been ten years since Jon had seen his siblings when he met them again early this summer. Those first days he searched their features in every interaction for some physical resemblance but could find none. Rhaenys was olive-skinned, with a tangle of dark brown curls and large almond-shaped brown eyes. Aegon was dark-skinned too, with a mop of silver hair and their father’s eyes. Both siblings were tall and slender and graceful, that some almost nonhuman quality which Rhaegar had as well. It had hurt Jon in ways he didn’t understand, made him yearn for his cousin Arya, the only family member who resembled him.

“Is your partner here yet?” Jon asked.

A week before, Rhaenys had shared with Jon their first sibling secret. They were having dinner together at their father’s home and when Aegon and Rhaegar had gone inside to speak about their business, Rhaenys and Jon stayed outside and talked. Speaking with his sister came easier to him than chatting with Aegon; Rhaenys was warm and open, she had exchanged numbers with him at their first meeting, and already invited him to her nameday celebration in the capital later that year. Aegon was more withdrawn, prone to long silences and had to be pulled into conversation; perhaps they were just too alike.

In retrospect, they may have had too much wine but it wasn’t long before Rhaenys told him that she was seeing someone.

_“It’s only been a couple of months,” She said, “But I really like her.”_

_“Oh. I didn’t realize that you date women.”_

_“I didn’t either,” She responded, and though she seemed relax, he could tell Rhaenys was keeping an eye on the house, for Rhaegar and Aegon’s return, “It surprised me too. No one else knows, not even Aegon.”_

_Jon couldn’t imagine how their father might feel about that, he simply didn’t know him well enough. The Targaryens still had arranged marriages, could wed brother to sister and niece to uncle if they wished. Jon wondered whether Rhaenys and Aegon would be married someday; it was an unsettling thought for him, but perhaps their father would insist on the tradition. Jon wasn’t brave enough to ask._

_“And what about you?” Rhaenys asked, “Is there anyone in your life?”_

_“Not for a while,” Jon admitted, “There was a someone, a northern girl. But it didn’t work out.”_

_It still hurt after all of these years to think of Ygritte. He wasn’t ready for talk about it now, hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, not Robb, not anyone. But perhaps one day he would tell his sister about it._

_His sister didn’t push the subject, “When you come to King’s Landing, I can introduce you to my friends and we can see if there’s anyone you like.”_

Her partner was meant to arrive today.

“We spoke yesterday,” Rhaenys explained, “We decided it’s too risky. Even if we say we’re just friends, Aegon might notice and we would both rather avoid that.”

“Would it bother him?”

Rhaenys shrugged, “I’m not sure. I think it would just lead to a conversation I’m not ready to have.” She seemed to spot something at the other end of the beach. “Look, there they are.”

If Jon squinted, he could see two figures approaching in the distance. One of them was Aegon, Jon could tell by his white swimming shorts, but he couldn't quite make out the other person. As they approached, Jon could see it was a woman. She had long, pale silver-gold hair that fell around her face, that same supernatural sort of beauty of his siblings. Walking alongside Aegon, they looked like they belonged together. For some reason, it made Jon want to look away.

Rhaenys jumped up to greet the woman, hugging her closely. She said something to her that Jon didn’t hear, that made the woman laugh before Rhaenys took her by the hand and bring her over.

“Jon, this is Daenerys,” Rhaenys said, “Daenerys, this is my brother, Jon.”

 _Daenerys_. Jon knew that his father had a sister named Daenerys but he imagined an older women, someone his father’s age. This Daenerys seemed to be his age, maybe even younger.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Jon,” She said, smiling, and it was a beautiful smile, “Aegon hasn’t stopped speaking about you since he picked me up.”

Aegon seemed to be embarrassed by that, and looked down at his feet.

"It’s nice to meet you too.”


	2. Part II: The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar makes an offer, and a chance encounter comforts Jon.

Jon could see the villa where Daenerys was staying from his bedroom window. He noticed it that first night when she arrived. Each night, he would sit on his windowsill and smoke a cigarette. If there was a full moon, he could see the outline of the other houses and see the dark waves crashing against the sand; if there wasn’t, it was pitch black and all he could only hear the sea.

That night, the moon was hiding behind the clouds so he was surprised when he saw a light go on in one of the empty homes down the shore. He saw the silhouette of her figure - he could tell it was her by her long hair and that she was undressing - but when he caught sight of her, he flinched as though burned, and closed his blinds.

The morning after her arrival, he went downstairs to join his father for breakfast. They usually prepared it together but when he got to the kitchen, he could hear voices from outside. Stepping onto the patio, he was surprised to see the table had already been set, and his father was sitting down with with a mug of coffee in his hands, held to his lips. Daenerys was standing, her back to the door, saying something to his father that Jon couldn’t hear. On the table between them was a stack of folders filled with paper.

She was barefoot, wearing a pair of jeans and an oversized white t-shirt. Her hair was loose, falling to the middle of her waist, and wild. 

“Good morning, Jon,” His father said, too loudly.

She turned around suddenly, startled by his arrived and tried to smile.

“Good morning,” Daenerys repeated.

“Good morning,” He said, “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”

Daenerys shook her head, though it was obvious he had. 

“No, I was just leaving.” She attempted one more smile, “Maybe I’ll see you later?”

“Sure.” He took his normal seat across from his father, and watched as she walked down the hill, back to where she was staying. 

“Dany knows how special this time is for us,” Rhaegar was pouring some coffee for him out of a French press. “But she needed to speak to me. I hope you don’t mind.”

Uncle Brandon had warned Jon before he left for this trip not to get his hopes up (“Rhaegar is a cold bastard,” he’d said, to put it more bluntly) but Jon wondered what his uncle would have to say now. He could hardly believe it himself; there were moments like this when he felt like he was having an out of body experience. To be sitting in this beautiful place, across the table from his father, knowing how much it meant to both of them to be together; it was something he wouldn’t have dared imagine as a child.

“Of course not,” Jon responded, “Does Daenerys work with you?”

His father seemed to find that amusing, he was smiling. 

“Daenerys? No. She’s in graduate school, she’ll be leaving for her fieldwork soon. She thinks she’s going to change the world.”

Jon could imagine her in some strange country, some beautiful place in Essos, speaking a foreign language and eating exotic foods. Somehow, he couldn’t see her in a boardroom sitting behind a desk. 

His father continued, “What about you, Jon? Have you thought about what you would like to do now that you’ve graduated?”   


For the couple of years, Jon had been back living with Uncle Benjen and working part time with him at the forest service. He knew there was a full time job there for him if he wanted it, but Jon hadn’t decided if he wanted to take it yet. It was a tough job, he would be spending most of the year stationed in remote outposts, often alone. Even Uncle Benjen had encouraged him to hold off before committing. 

“I’m not sure,” Jon admitted. He drank some of the coffee, “I can’t imagine going back to school for another degree. I think I’ll stay in the North. I might work with my Uncle Benjen, but my cousin Robb can find a place for me in Winterfell.”

He couldn’t tell what his father thought of that. His expression remained the same, unreadable. 

“There is another possibility I would like for you to consider.” His father was looking through the folders in front of him. He handed Jon a pen and a folder with his name written on the front.

“What is this?”   


“Open it,” Rhaegar insisted.

Jon flipped it open. Inside, there was an application for a petition to change his legal name. It had already been filled out for him; his “previous name” was written Jon Stark, and “change name to” read Jon Targaryen. There was a letter with the Bank of Braavos stamp that said an account had been made in his name - his new name - and what looked like a contract for a position to work alongside his father. Each document was waiting for his signature, marked by a little yellow post-it note. 

His mind went blank.

“You don’t have to decide now,” His father had reached across the table and held his hands, to reassure him, “I would like us to be a family. Promise me at least that you will think it over.”

“I promise,” Jon managed to get out.

The rest of the breakfast passed in a blur. Jon left afterwards for his run, his mind racing. 

It was never something that he wanted. He yearned for a relationship with his father for years, that much was true. Regardless of how much Uncle Ned loved him, how much he had sacrificed to raise him in Winterfell, Jon knew that it came to a choice between Robb and him, that Robb would come out the winner. He didn’t fault anyone for that; all he had wanted was for a parent of his own, someone who would love him that way. He had gotten that finally, this summer had proved that, but what would it mean for him to sign those papers, to lose his name and to leave the North for good? 

He didn’t even know what his father did, not really. They were outrageously wealthy, had been for generations, and owned practically all of Westeros but what did that mean, day to day? Would he be involved in financial planning, banking, real estate? None of those appealed to Jon. He had a degree in environmental science, for god’s sake.

Was that why Daenerys had seemed so upset? Had his father told her of his plans, and had they fought? That bank account his father created for him had an enormous sum in it.  _ Maybe she doesn’t want to split her fortune with her illegitimate nephew. _

His aunt was beautiful, like his siblings, like his father. She was educated and well-travelled and graceful.  _ What does she see when she looks at me? A Northerner, a stranger who doesn’t resemble her family, an intruder.  _

He took a long shower after he returned from his walk, and stayed in his room for most of the day. It felt childish; he could hear his father on the phone downstairs, moving through the house and it embarrassed him to be hiding from him. He just couldn’t face him, not yet, would have nothing to say if his father asked what was on his mind and what he had decided. He didn’t even want to see that folder again.

Jon had always made his own decisions,  _ had to _ make his own decisions. But there was nothing he wanted more now than to have someone decide this for him.

_ Maybe I’ll call Uncle Ned.  _ But no, Uncle Ned would tell him he would support him regardless and keep his own feelings about it to himself. Uncle Brandon would sometimes get angry at the mere mention of his father, and Uncle Benjen was stationed at Greyguard and practically unreachable. His relationship with his father wasn’t a part of his life that he shared with his cousins, and he immediately eliminated the possibility of calling Ygritte.  _ She would hang up on me anyway. _

He could decide on who to call later, he just needed to get near a phone.

There was no cellphone service in Summerhall. The only landline in the house was linked up to Rhaegar’s office, and the thought of having his father overhear this conversation was mortifying. He had, however, seen a pay phone in the town on his drive in.

_ I have to get out of here.  _ Even if it was just for an hour or two, even if no one took his call, he needed to get away and clear his head. 

Jon waited until he thought he could hear his father close the door to his bedroom, and went down the stairs, through the living room and to the back of the house where his father kept his car. Rhaegar had repeatedly offered Jon use of his car but he still felt guilty at his relief when he slid into the driver’s seat, and found the keys in the cup holder.

It took him a while to drive into town; he blasted the radio to drown out his thoughts, and parked in the first available spot. The town was packed with well-to-do tourists. When he had driven through on his first day, it was mid-afternoon and he hadn’t gotten the chance to really look around. It was beautiful at night, however, decorated with small lights, the doors to all the shops thrown up and some street musicians performing.  _ I wonder if my father ever brought my mother here _ . Jon knew that his parents had been in Dorne together, but wasn’t sure where.  _ I wonder if she would have liked this. _

He let himself be pulled along by the sound of the music, and the families and couples walking around. It would help him clear his head, get some space from Summerhall and his father and the decision, before he figured out who to talk to, before he heard the voice of someone who could guide him.

He joined the crowd standing listening to a guitarist perform. It was only a few moments before someone was tugging at his sleeve. He turned around to find Daenerys.

She was standing alone, but wearing a pair of heeled boots with a short dress, her eyes heavily lined and her hair carefully braided; he looked around to make sure she really wasn’t with anyone else.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” She said, smiling warmly.

She seemed somehow different from their first meeting and from when he had seen her earlier today, as though some weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Meanwhile, his transformation was the opposite.

“You didn’t frighten me,” He replied. The crowd had started clapping along with the performer, and Daenerys motioned for him to step back with her. He followed.

“Are you here alone?” She asked, as they walked around the corner, away from the music. She was expertly maneuvering the cobblestoned road with her heels; Jon couldn’t help but notice her legs were tanned.  _ Is she cold in that dress? _

“Yes. I felt like I wanted to get away. What about you?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I’ve been in Sunspear all day and just finished moving my things into the place I’m renting. I needed some fresh air.”

“Hotel? I thought you were staying in Summerhall?”

He didn’t have to tell her he had seen her from his window last night.

“Just last night,” She was leading them to the boardwalk, and Jon followed. There were vendors selling cotton candy and fresh corn, and he wondered if he should buy her something. “I don’t like staying there. It’s too, I don’t know, it’s lonely. Don’t you feel that?”   


He hadn’t until today.

“Not really. It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Daenerys conceded, “And I guess it must be nice, to spend time with Rhaegar after all this time. He seems really happy to have you there.”

She said it so genuinely that Jon was embarrassed to have thought she harbored any sort of resentment towards him, or likely that she even knew what was in that folder. It was a bit disarming, how warm she was now, as opposed to before; she was talkative, and funny, and charming.

They walked around for a while, eventually stopping to rest on a bench. Jon gave her his jacket when goosebumps appeared on her arms and chest, and they hardly stopped speaking.

Daenerys told him about her research; she was writing her dissertation on labor conditions in Meereen and had been working with some local activists there for the past couple of years. She told him she hadn’t grown up in the capital, that she had lived with her other brother, Viserys, in Dragonstone until she went to university. She told him of how grim it was in Dragonstone, how she always had nightmares when she slept there, and how she wouldn’t ever go back. They figured out they had been at the university in Oldtown at the same time but ran in different circles. She was only a few months younger than him, but had an innocence about her that made her seem younger, despite how she looked.

Jon told her about the North, about growing up in Winterfell with his cousins, about Arya, how wild she was, and how beautiful it was in the winter. He told her things he hadn’t shared with Rhaenys or Aegon, or even Robb, about how sometimes he would go into the crypts and sit with his mother. Daenerys didn’t know anything about her; she was so much younger than Rhaegar, and they could never talk about those things. She apologized for not having any stories about her to tell Jon, which was so sweet that it made him want to cry for his mother in a way he hadn’t since he was a little boy.

It was past midnight when he walked her to where she was staying, the top floor of a small house in town. The streets were empty by then and they were alone as he watched her search in her purse for her keys.

“Are you parked very far?” She asked.

“To be honest, I’m not sure where it is anymore,” He admitted. 

They had walked for so long and through so many small streets, he had lost all sense of direction.

Suddenly he remembered why he had gone into town for the first place. He’d wanted to call one of his uncles, or Robb. Somehow that didn’t seem so important anymore.

“If you’d like, you can stay over tonight. I can drive you already and we can look for the car in the morning. I can make you a bed on the floor.” She added, embarrassed, “Or, I can sleep on the floor and you can have the bed.”

Jon thought of going back to Summerhall, to the quiet villa where his father was, to his empty room.  _ I don’t want to be alone. _

He hesitated for long enough that she continued.

“I can call Rhaegar and let him know you’ll be driving back tomorrow, so he won’t worry,” She offered.

Daenerys didn’t seem to want to be alone either.

It was only then that Jon agreed, following her up the stairs and through to her apartment. It was about as big as his dorm room, with one king-sized bed pushed against the wall, a kitchenette on the other side of the room and a door that led to what he assumed was the bedroom. The only signs of human life was Daenerys’ suitcases which lay on the floor, the clothes streaming out of it as though the suitcase had exploded. He stood awkwardly, not knowing where to look or to sit, as she went into the bathroom. He heard her muffled voice - she’d probably taken her cellphone in and was speaking to Rhaegar - and when she came out, instead of her dress, she was wearing a pair of gym shorts and t-shirt. She had wiped her makeup off and her face looked flush; her braid was undone and her hair fell in crimped layers around her body.

“I have this you can wear,” She moved towards her suitcase and digging through, found a black t-shirt which she handed to him.

It was a novelty t-shirt from someplace called The Blue Lantern in Braavos. He felt awkward about going to the bathroom just to change his shirt, and more awkward still to do it in front of her, but she saved him the embarrassment by turning away and beginning to make a place for him to sleep on the ground from her pillows and blankets. When she turned back around, he was wearing the t-shirt and his boxer shorts.

A look flashed across her face but only for a moment and then it was gone before he could understand it.

_ Is this weird? Did I just weird her out? Should I put my jeans back on? _

But she was already getting into bed, settling in under a thin blanket. Jon followed her lead, and laid down on his makeshift bed on the floor beside her.

“Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Daenerys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left comments, kudos and subscribed to the story. I'm looking forward to seeing what you think about this chapter; reading your comments definitely feeds my muse. 
> 
> Things will probably heat up in Part III so keep an eye on the tags as they change.


	3. Part III: The Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A growing intimacy, and break.
> 
> Content warning: alcohol use in a sexual context

Whenever Jon smelled jasmine, even years later, he would always remember that summer and Daenerys.

The night he stayed with her, he had laid quietly in the dark, listening as she moved around in bed. The shirt she had let him borrow smelled like jasmine perfume, and he could smell it in his dreams. 

He dreamt of strange things that night, of being lost but not scared in Winterfell’s godswood, of the trees speaking to him and of his mother and Uncle Benjen playing in the pools. In his dreams she always looked like she did in a picture his uncles had given him; 16 years old in a furry green sweater, laughing. He dreamt of Daenerys, or perhaps saw her but was so tired he was pulled back to sleep. Her naked back turned to him and she was wearing a pair of lace black underwear. The window was open and her skin was shining. 

The next day, they drove together into the desert. Daenerys had simply asked, “do you feel like going back yet?” - once he said no, they’d gotten into her car and began their drive. At the first traffic light, a street vendor knocked on their window, holding two armfolds of jasmine flowers laced through strings to create a necklace; Jon bought one and hung it from Daenerys’ rearview mirror. She kept it there all summer where it hung, dried and fragile.

They passed by a few more small towns on their drive, some they drove through, others Jon could see only far away, but within an hour the landscape quickly gave way to desert. There was nothing to see then, except for the few other cars on the road and red mountains in the distance. They spoke little, but it was a comfortable silence, and Jon felt at peace in a way he hadn’t in months. 

They spent that day at an archaeological site, nestled between two mountain ranges, a massive temple complex made of white granite and marble. Jon had never been very interested in history, but there was something strange and beautiful about that day. Perhaps it was because they were alone, because her voice was lovely when she spoke about the site, because he could almost imagine that they were of this world, of a medieval time when this place was whole and princes and princesses prayed there.

If someone asked him what they spoke of that day, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. He remembered only that they were happy, that they said nothing of their families or of their lives, that they only existed in those moments and in that place. They picnicked in that temple, sitting on the large stones that a sign indicated had once made up the altar, and drove home when it was dark. 

He did remember the disappointment he felt when Daenerys didn’t get out of the car, when they got to her father’s villa and he understood she would be going back to her own place. He also remembered the shame he felt, at the disappointment that she wouldn’t be going in with him.  _ What is she going to do, _ he thought,  _ climb into my bed?  _ He told himself it was because it had been a comfort to be in that room with her, that it truly felt like he was with family, that it was not unlike when Bran and Rickon came to visit him and Robb and college and they would have to double up in the bedrooms. 

He felt like a teenager again, on the very few instances he had come home after curfew, knowing his Uncle Ned was waiting for his in the dark of the living room, as he walked into the villa. It was a dangerous feeling, holding himself accountable for his behavior towards his father. It was something which he’d had to come to terms with before he agreed to come on this trip and to begin to build their relationship. His father hadn’t been there, not consistently, and it was unhealthy to expect something more of him, to behave as though things  _ hadn’t _ been complicated.

His apprehension had been for nothing. When he’d walked in, his father was sitting in his study alone, reading a book as he usually did before he went to bed; he looked up from his book and smiled at Jon, and wished him a good night.

After that, it was easy for them to fall back into their old routines. The papers he would someday have to face were left on a table in his room - which after a few days he had buried clothes - but his father did not mention them again. 

It was a comfort, this return to peace, to a quiet life with his father where they could continue to build their tentative intimacy. It was easy as well, almost shamefully so, to get used to the privileges of life in a Targaryen household. He rarely saw the household staff, beyond his father’s personal assistants, but his laundry was always done, his clothes ironed, his bed made, and the fridge always stocked. If he even mentioned something in passing to his father which he wanted to drink, or eat or try, it would appear the next day as though by magic. 

Daenerys fit into this life so easily that Jon couldn’t help but wonder why she did not choose it, why instead she stayed in that tiny apartment. He asked her as much one day. It was blisteringly hot, and they had all gone into the water, save for Rhaenys who was holed up inside talking on the phone to her girlfriend; Aegon was the strongest swimmer by far and had gone far deeper, while Jon and Daenerys floated closer to the shore. His aunt was still wearing her sunglasses, the lenses so dark that he couldn’t quite tell where she was looking. Perhaps that made it easier to ask.

“I’m younger than Aegon and Rhaenys,” was her response, smiling. “Rhaegar has a tendency to act like my dad if we get too close or if I rely too much on him.”

“Where is your dad?” 

He could have said  _ my grandfather _ , but it made him uncomfortable.

Daenerys paused, “Rhaegar didn’t tell you about that?”

“No.” He knew that their mother had died giving birth to Daenerys, but no one ever mentioned their father.

“Our dad is sick,” She shifted away from him, “He’s lived alone in our house in Dragonstone with his nurses and doctors ever since I was born. Rhaegar thought it would be kinder than a psychiatric hospital.”

Jon tried hard to keep his face still and unreadable, though a hundred different questions were running through his mind. Daenerys grew up in Dragonstone too, Rhaenys had told him stories of going to visit her and his Uncle Viserys as children; had she lived there with him? 

He reached for her, wanting to reassure her, to comfort her and not being sure if she wanted reassurance or comfort but she swam out of reach. Jon thought she would swim back to the shore but instead she turned to face him, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head so he could see her eyes.

“You should know these things. This is your family too,” she said.

Their summer changed after that. They found more quiet, stolen moments together, when Daenerys could tell him about what their life was like, what it truly meant to be a Targaryen. She told him stories about her ancestors,  _ their _ ancestors, the wonderful and terrible things they had done. She told him things that kept him up all night, that made their way into his nightmares and kept him from sleep, but other there were other things that were inspiring and beautiful. All the while, the specter of mental illness followed them, generation after generation, reeling up whenever it seemed to have been stamped out.

If it was in them, it was in him too. For many of his ancestors it had manifested in dissociative disorders, in a time when they didn’t have the words for it, but for others it seemed more subtle, living in the grey areas between eccentricity and what they used to call madness. His uncle Viserys was crossing through this space, Daenerys explained to him, growing more and more unpredictable. Daenerys would look away from him as she told him about her brother, as though she was ashamed to be admitting it, telling him of how Viserys would steal money from Rhaegar and disappear for weeks, how she had been tasked with tracking him down and found him in a bar, where he’d slapped her and almost got arrested when she tried to get him to go home.

Before Jon had left for Summerhall, Uncle Ned had taken him to pray in the Godswood; “you may not be my son, but you have my blood” he had said as they parted. It wasn’t until now that Jon began to take seriously the fact he had Targaryen blood too.

When he looked at Daenerys’ face as she leaned into speak to him, watched her walk down the beach in her bathing suits, and rubbed sunblock into her now-freckled skin, Jon wondered what his form of madness was. He followed his Stark family’s worship of old gods, where there was no priest to judge or damn, only you and the face of the heart tree, but a septon of the new gods of the Seven would call it an abomination. 

Jon didn’t know what to call it, what to think of it, and so kept it at bay. Mornings were the most difficult, when the world was still around him and his mind - and shamefully, his hands - began to wander. 

It did not occur to him to wonder whether Daenerys was similarly struggling, whether she was asking herself the same questions. It was years later that he understood what torture it had been for her, how alone she must have felt, how out of control of her own self.

They left Summerhall only once more that summer. Rhaenys and Aegon’s Dornish cousins had invited them to a night out in Sunspear. It was far away enough that they would be spending the night out there. Riding in the car with his siblings and Daenerys, Jon was in his own head, working on managing his anxiety about meeting the niece and nephew of Elia Martell; he hadn’t know it would be one the last times he would see Daenerys for years, or else he might have spoke more to her, taken her in. He could no longer even remember what she was wearing.

The party was held on a rooftop bar of a hotel with stunning views of the Dornish capital. It was a campy sort of place, serving drinks inside coconuts and pineapples, but it was crowded and loud, which Jon took comfort in. Arianne and Quentyn Martell greeted him briefly but politely enough and disappeared for most of the night with their friends and family, people Jon was introduced to but whose names he quickly forgot. As the night wore on, Aegon and Rhaenys began to drift away with their cousins, speaking in a language Jon didn’t understand, dancing whereas Jon was to embarrassed to, and increasingly left him alone with Daenerys.

She had three drinks that night, and he’d had five. The number didn’t matter, he knew, but it became more and more important to him as time went on, to retrace what happened that night, to go over every moment of it. Sometimes he convinced himself it was nothing, that those fruit drinks weren’t enough to do more damage than cause a buzz. Other times, he was convinced they were drunk, that they  _ must have been _ .

It was around midnight when Daenerys suggested they explore the hotel. The party had grown raucous and loud, and she’d had enough of being pushed and shoved as people jostled their way to the bar or the dance floor. It sent a shock straight through his body when she grabbed his hand to pull him through the crowds and out of the bar.

There were a couple of restaurants on the top floor of the hotel and and a more upscale bar, where they each ordered Moscow Mules and brought their total alcohol intake to four and six, respectively. They sat across each other in a booth as they drank; Daenerys’ feet hurt from her heels and at some point she had placed them in his lap, and he had began to massage them under the table. She was ticklish, and laughed beautifully whenever he touched her in the wrong spot, which made him laugh too.

He held her shoes for her as they walked down to their rooms. They had reserved two rooms, one for Aegon and Jon, and the other for Daenerys and Rhaenys, but he followed her into hers and placed her shoes on the nightstand.

They stood looking at each other for a fraction of a minute before they reached for each other. He could not say for certain who had been the one to take the first step forward, but once they did, they only held hands at the start. It must have made a strange sight but it was comforting, and sweet, and felt like the most intimate thing that Jon had ever done with a woman; simply to stand in front of her, to feel her hands in his. 

A kiss seemed like the most natural thing after that, a small peck that felt like a dream, followed by a languid one that was deeper and softer and made him hard. They kissed for an eternity or what felt like it, kissed like teenagers who had just discovered the pleasure of it, and it was only when she was pressed up tight against him, when neither could take it anymore, that they pulled apart.

“Do you still want to do this?” He asked, because they had been drinking and because he wanted to hear her say it.

“Yes, I do.”

They kissed again, but he wanted to feel her skin and he moved his hands down her sides, to her thighs where he could get under the hemline of her dress. 

It had been years since he had slept with a woman - as much as Robb refused to believe it, Ygritte was his first and only sexual partner - and when his hands made it to her underwear, when he felt the lace and her warm wetness soaking through, he thought he would cum right then and there.

Instead, he broke their kiss again.

“Is this still okay?”

Daenerys looked serious with lips swollen from his kisses, hair tousled. He might have loved her a little in that moment.

“Yes, it is.”

He was lost in her then, in the feel of her under his fingers. Jon had never been so aroused by bringing pleasure to a woman as he was then. She moved against him, in rhythm with his fingers as he moved in and out of her, biting at his lips, pulling at his shirt, moaning quietly. He felt every sensation she was feeling, felt as though she was touching him too, felt as though all of him was inside of her, that they were moving together. He moaned into her mouth, and she liked it, and clutched at him. 

They may have gone to the bed then, where he would have undressed her, where he would have seen and kissed her body. What would it have meant for them, if they had gone further? Would it have created a bond between them that would have been more difficult to break? Or was that just sentimental bullshit?

There was a knock at the door, three quick raps, and if it had ended there they would have assumed it was room service or maintenance or the front desk and ignored it. But then he heard a key swipe and someone tried to open the door, which slammed on the security guard on the door. 

“Dany, are you in here? I need to piss and I lost my key,” It was Aegon’s slightly inebriated voice.

Daenerys and Jon untangled themselves from each other. She had a charming smile on her face, a little sheepish but also mischievous, as though this was a fun game she wanted to continue to play, even as she straightened out her hair and dress. 

If it was any other woman in any other place, Jon would have found that look hard to resist, would have wanted to kiss her again, worship her. But there was something in hearing the sound of his brother’s voice which shook him out of whatever it was, whether madness or lust or love. 

Hearing his brother’s voice reminded him of who she was, this woman he had fingered and kissed and who he would have probably made love to that night. She was his aunt, and his brother was outside, and his father was waiting for them in Summerhall. Perhaps they wouldn’t have cared, incest was nothing to them, such an integral part of their culture that even the High Septon could not condemn it. 

Standing in front of Daenerys now, Jon was reminded of the feeling he had when his father had asked him to sign those papers. Being with her meant to choose to be a Targaryen, and it meant to give up anything in him that was Stark. He could return to Winterfell having signed those papers, but he could not return having had sex with his own aunt. The weight of it, the realization of what he had done and what he had wanted to do still, was suffocating.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

It was pathetic, but it was all he could think to say. He did not look at her and walked out of the door, unlocked it for Aegon who stumbled in, drunk and clueless, and continued down the hall, pushed forward and away. He had no idea where he would go, but he could not stay there.

Daenerys caught up to him as he waited by the elevators. She looked angry, which he expected, but hurt, which broke his heart.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” He said, and made himself look at her.

She narrowed her eyes, “We shouldn’t have done that? How could you say that, after everything that’s happened this summer?”

“Nothing has happened,” Jon told her, and tried to tell himself, “We were all hanging out together, we’re all getting to know each other. But this, this isn’t right. This is sick.”

Something changed in Daenerys’ expression, flashing over her face for a fraction of a section before she masked it behind a look that was almost cruel, violent.

“I’m leaving. You stay,” She responded, crossing her arms over her chest, as though to create a physical barrier between them, “I’m  _ sick _ . I wouldn’t want to spoil your holiday.”

Had he been a different man then, he might have chased after her as she did, might have followed her as she took the elevator down and walked out into the streets of Sunspear. He might have insisted that she stay, might have been the one to leave instead while he figured out what he felt. He could have told his father what had happened, asked for his help. Instead, Jon said nothing to his siblings when they asked where Daenerys had gone. They figured it out themselves soon enough, he could tell when they stopped asking. Instead, he returned to Summerhall and stayed there for the remainder of the summer, as though nothing had ever changed. Instead, he left the papers with his father, apologized and told him he loved him, and left on his scheduled flight for Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. As I mentioned in replies to some of the comments, I was dealing with a family emergency for the past few weeks which kept me from being able to write,
> 
> I rewrote this chapter about three times before I felt satisfied with it. Please do let me know what you think in the comments, it keeps me inspired and motivated.


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